Jump On My Shoulders
by Saxiphony
Summary: In a world ravaged by descrimination and war, a young fishwoman sets out on an adventure of promise, searching the farthest oceans for her long lost father. Along the way, she encounters a new cause to follow. She happily jumps on their shoulders...
1. Anomic Beginnings

This is a fanfic written by my sister. It is part of a combined project and the content in it will be considered canon to my story _Guilty, Filthy Soul._ If you are a fan already, I would highly recommend reading this too. My sister is an excellent writer and it is important that you read her story to understand the full scope of my fanfic. Read and review please and be perfectly honest as always. The lyrics presented throughout this chapter belong to Awolnation.

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><p><em>We were born to rage,we're the price of pain; We're a single voice, we're the second choice,we were born to rage…<em>

The world had known no greater strife than that which plagued it now. Harmony had long since been scattered to the wind, violently blasted into the disparate particles of war brought on by centuries of vehement dissension. Since the time of the antediluvian flood that had saturated the Earth with salt and sand, a fierce battle raged between the forbearers of two of the world's greatest races. Within the stygian fathoms of the deepest of oceans, a species of humanoids surged into existence to inhabit the abyss: the fishmen. Seemingly destined for prominence over all others, they were granted superiority in strength by the gods, a capability they were inclined to wield against all of those who attempted to oppose them. With their overall ascendancy over the other races, including the other oceanic race, the merfolk, the fishmen expanded their empire to conquer the remaining oceans.

In the process of their worldwide incursion, they tangled with the mighty leviathans of the deep, their gnashing teeth proving useless against the raw power and higher intelligence of the god-chosen, oceanic race. Taming the beasts to be used at their disposal, this nation lived out its days in paradise, surviving harmoniously with the rest of the ocean. However, the fishmen soon became curious of what kinds of autochthon inhabited the dirt on the land above. It must have been out of pity for their other race, the humans, which caused the gods to turn against their own perfect creation. For when the fishmen came to the surface with irenic intentions, the humans met them with terror balanced precariously on the cutting edge of a blade.

Not unlike a powder keg, a single spark of fear brought about discrimination against the oceanic, peace bearers. The gods, whom had shown nothing but espousal before for the dealings of their resilient fishmen, had seemingly turned a blind eye, arming the humans with spears and eventually pistols to combat the strength of their adversaries. Without much choice in the matter, the fishmen went to battle against these new enemies; in an unexpected turn of events, severe opposition met them at the gates. With each ensuing onslaught, the humans became craftier, relying on their numbers and superior weaponry to impel the fishmen back into the crashing waves that blasted the sandy shores below. Beating back the attacking army, the humans regained control over what little land they had already possessed; instead of allowing the fleeing fishmen a fair retreat, the tenacious land dwellers sought to either enchain or eradicate the race that had unwillingly clashed against them.

It was not long before pistols and spears turned into harpoons and nets. Soon the once triumphant fishmen race had been beaten down beneath the unwavering fist of the human leaders. Viewing the fishmen as mere animals to be imprisoned and sold, the humans, whom the gods had taken such favor in now, began to expand their control over the world; akin to a virus, their touch sickened and choked the world of its resources. Without much care for what they destroyed in their wake, the humans netted and beached man, woman and child, linking them to their new masters with ropes and chains; those that struggled in the process were met by the piercing end of a spear and put on display to quash any sign of resistance or hope that dared challenge their authority. Over countless generations of enslavement, the once proud fishman race had been propelled deeper into the oceans, living like beasts on the brink of society. Their progeny must now live with the consequences of this past expedition. However, this new generation soon became dissatisfied with the benthic lifestyle of their defeated race; the few, brave souls who were willing to do so, sought out the heavenly ocean that lay reflected above their concealed world…

_My knife is a dream, it's a beautiful world; She'll never leave, it's a beautiful world…_

Whitney stood poised, balanced on the brink of discovery, her fingers inches away from the protective barrier that separated her home, Fishman Island, from the rest of the ocean. Unlike so many others who had delved into the abyssal plains of the deepest seas to reach and penetrate into this unknown world, she longed for the mysteries that lay beyond it. The writhing current that existed between the island itself and the bastion-like, bubble wall, assaulted her body from all directions, teasing her tentacle-like hair with each twisting movement. In an abrupt moment of absentmindedness, her hand flew to her face, removing the shade that had suddenly covered her round eyes. After renewing her field of vision with one inattentive flip of her wrist, her hand came to rest on the crest of her skull; her head was decorated with an ornate, cream-colored shell that was similar in structure to the spherical armor of the ancient nautilid species.

Maintaining her current position in the undertow of the incoming tides required little more than a natural alteration in her own buoyancy. Despite her humanoid form, this served as another capability that marked her as being close in physical composition to those prehistoric cephalopods. Staring into her own nebulous visage, its image reflecting awkwardly in the bubble's curved, oily surface, Whitney watched in amusement as it was distorted in the similar way of a funhouse mirror; her outstretched fingers grazed the wall's surface, sending a wave of exhilaration shooting through her veins like a powerful drug. She gazed upon the wells of determination that were mirrored in her own eyes; a sigh of catharsis escaped her lips as she paused for just an instance, balking the start of her adventure; this sudden change was brought about by a single pang of regret. Repenting on her past missteps, her mind faded back to a poignant moment of her father's own, audacious departure from the underwater island and how her own mother had felt about her daughter's similar intentions. _Mother._

"_How dare you plan this! So, you have decided to leave me here alone just like your fool of a father did! When did you even dream up such a foul scheme!"_ an older woman screeched, several fingers pointed in the face of the young, nautilus fishwoman, her eyes ablaze with the intense fury of someone who had just been betrayed and left to bake in the sun like some enormous squid. A squid was not that far off from the point of what her mother was. With numerous jabs in the stomach by her mother's many tentacle arms, Whitney backed away from the door of the small cottage and shut it behind her back. She raised her hands in front of her like a shield in hopes of defending her careless actions.

"_Dad was no fool! I doubt he abandoned you, mother. There must have been something greater at work that halted his return,"_ Whitney replied angrily, her hands coming to rest on her hips. Her mother, Holly as she was called, sighed and stared at her daughter with patience in her gaze. She flung her long, black hair out of her eyes and began working it into the usual bun that rested on top of her head. Her field of vision then fell again, suddenly ablaze with indignation as she eyed her daughter suspiciously.

"_And you plan on finding this mysterious force? You intend to search for your wayward father, don't you? Sometimes I wish you would have gotten more of my sensible DNA! I was honestly hoping you would get a little bit more from me than your skin color!" _Holly blurted, her voice rising with anger as she again jabbed her errant daughter in the stomach repeatedly, an effect multiplied six fold by her many, octopus-like arms. With her mother fuming impatiently, Whitney gasped and dropped her arms to her side, her fingers trailing along her soft, incarnadine skin that was so alike to her mother's own flesh. She stood for a moment, twiddling her thumbs, her eyes moving quickly from her mother to the floor and then back to her mother again. Once she had steeled herself against this moment of severe apprehension, she spoke again, her words chosen with a certain specificity to avoid any more antagonism bubbling up within her mother.

"_Well there's that, but there is something else."_ Whitney muttered under her breath, suddenly taken aback by her mother's strong disapproval. At this utterance, her mother suddenly became even more flustered at Whitney's expense, her eyes suddenly specked with hints of apprehension. Both women held their breath, waiting patiently for the other to continue speaking. Unfortunately, no relief came from either side, both refusing to pipe up as both were unwilling to contribute to this new idea.

"_You always were a lot like your father, always wanting to see what was out there. You want to go to the surface again, don't you? That's the other thing isn't it? I curse your father for ever taking you there in the first place,"_ her mother blurted out, tears welling up in her eyes. Seeing her mother's anguish brought about great sadness within Whitney. She was already rushing forward to comfort her distressed mother. Her many tentacle arms had been brought up, covering her face in defense like a wall that separated her from this new moment of suffering. _"I thought that you would have learned by now! Were Otohime's ill-fated attempts at peace not enough to assuage your taste for adventure? You know too well what lies above our world!"_

"_That's the point, mother! We shouldn't have to live like this, hidden away from the world just because some upright-walking primates fear us! It's descrimatory the way they treat us and our fear is their power! Someone has to stand up for our race!"_ Whitney screeched back despite herself. Realizing her transgression, she immediately covered her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared back at her mother's shocked expression.

"_Whitney, you, you sound just like them. Those terrible revolutionaries, have they finally entranced you with their radical ways?"_ Holly cried out, her voice shaking from either fear or anger.

"_This has nothing to do with those pirates. I have to do this for myself. If I never even try, then I won't be able to see what lies beyond our world. I do not intend to leave you mother. I will most certaintly return. But, please. I need your support now more than ever. We are fishwomen, we have to make our mark in history. We are just as strong as the men and I believe that I can do something to help our race if not the entire world in the process. Please mother, you understand don't you?"_ Whitney replied with a steady voice, her words lying heavy in her throat, spilling over her lips with purpose. Holly, who had listened patiently to her daughter's explanation, began to dry her streaming tears. Rushing forward without warning, she embraced her daughter in a six-armed embrace. Her gaze was suddenly filled with joy rather than fear.

"_I finally understand. You want to make your mark on the world just like your father did. Forgive me for being an intrusion into your dreams. I did not intend to halt or eliminate them. But, please do understand. I don't want to have to say goodbye to my baby, especially if it would be the final time. Oh don't look at me like that Whitney! I was afraid that you would leave me behind to my suffering like your father did. Albeit for the fact that it was unintentional, it still pains me,"_ Holly whispered as she stroked her daughter's back in the motherly way that one might comfort an infant. Giving her daughter one more squick sqeeze, she released her, turning her back to hide her eyes that had been renewed with fresh tears.

"_I will be careful, you know that mother. I'm not the kind of person to rush recklessly into things,"_ Whitney replied calmly, a sense of pride welling up in her at her mother's understanding. Holly stood still for several minutes, clearly lost in contemplation. No words escaped either of their lips; there were no words to describe the pain with which they both were feeling. Holly knew that her daughter was at an impasse, her adventurous decisions suddenly undermined by the suffering of her mother. She knew that her daughter was standing on a high ledge that she could neither jump off of nor walk away from; welling with pride for her child as any mother would, she decided that she would have to be the one to give her that final push.

"_I know. I have the utmost faith in you as my daughter. I just hope you realize that your attire is hardly appropriate if you are hoping to befriend those crazy, surface-dwelling Homo Sapiens. They will most definitely find you odd the moment they lay eyes on you,"_ her mother joked in a relaxed tone, releasing a small giggle as she reflected on her daughter's unusual taste in outfits. Clad in a yellow, one piece Crimin sweater, her daughter certaintly didn't look the part of any dignified liasion. In the middle of the sweater, was the Crimin logo accentuated in a violent orange color that matched the similar strips on her wrists. Instead of pants, her daughter was sporting a garterbelt and a pair of violently striped, black and white tights that led down to a pair of sneakers. Seeing her mother's amusement caused Whitney's eyes to widen in embarassment, her pink cheeks now deep red in color. Along with her tentacle-like, short hair, which just so happened to be a brillant shade of hot pink, Whitney's overall appearance clashed so terribly that it seemed that her skin and clothes were in a heated battle for color supremacy; it also could be noted that neither side appeared to be winning.

_"__Yeah mom, they aren't going to like me because of my clothes. It will have absolutley nothing to do with my tentacles, skin color or my shell, right?"_ Whitney mused despite her sudden abashment, causing her mother to fall into another fit of giggles.

"_Of course, there is that. Just be safe,"_ Holly answered as she fought off her laughter, her tone suddenly turning more serious at the idea of her daughter's imminent departure.

"_I know, I know. Don't worry so much. There's no way I would leave you here by yourself for long. Heck, maybe I can bring dad back. I got to go then, I'm leaving now if possible,"_ Whitney stated smoothly, the look in her eyes clearly somewhere between excitement and apprehension.

"_See you then. Make me proud, Whitney,"_ Holly called out as she watched the door close with her daughter. Unexpectadley, she made no move to stop her now, her feet suddenly planted to the shell-covered floor of their cottage. With each passing moment, a new teardrop splashed against the ornately covered surface, leaving small pools that marked the spot where her daughter once stood. Moments passed like centuries, her heart already aching with regret yet still managaing to steel itself against this new outlet of anxiety. "_I was never good with goodbyes."_

_I got love for all your hate,I got lost to find my way;So be good with goodbyes,so be good with good byes…_

A wide distance now stood between Whitney, who was still poised, inches away from her adventure, and her mother, who remained behind, longing still to hold her baby in her arms again. With a sudden burst of inspiration, Whitney burst through the bubble wall with an intense speed akin to an overly excited salmon rocketing its way up a waterfall; her eyes were streaming with tears. Surging into the dark recesses of the abyss, Whitney knew what had to be done. A new era was upon the world, a refreshed feel for adventure now resided in not only the hearts of each and every human that walked the expanses of the earth, but also within the beating, visceral chests of her own race. There was nothing that mattered more to the young fishwoman; this adventure meant more to her than just some passing fancy for a vacation. It was for her people, her race, her father, and especially her mother. _People._

_People,People,have you heard the good news?There's people,people,they're running just like you;Today,I say, it's all that matters for now;For you And I…_

_Make some good 'ol love…_


	2. Surface Pains

Hi! This is Kaitlyn, more formally known by the Id of JazzyMint. Hooray for your confusion! I celebrate and savor your bewilderment! My sister's combined story and mine has so far been a success! It would appear that way at the very least. With the continued, joint effort connecting the stories _Jump On My Shoulders _and _Guilty, Filthy Soul_, we hope to further entice your minds, permanently ensnaring it into our own, devious plots. Please read and review as always! P.S- Sorry, this chapter is long as hell! Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this follow-up chapter!

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><p><em>Uh, yeah it's all in your mind baby. You gotta do what you feel, like a blind lady. You gotta spread your wings and just fly, baby. It feel like you're reborn?<em>

With her heart swelling with an excitement that permeated beyond the mere visceral levels of her flesh, Whitney climbed sharply through the countless fathoms separating her from the ocean's surface. A sudden ebullition disrupted the calm dolrum-like water above as she surged clear through to the surface, her speed propelling her at least ten meters into the air. Despite the long expanse she had just traversed to reach this external antipode, she tensed her muscles with an indefatigable vehemence. She gulped in her first taste of air since she had visited the surface with her father, its familiarity pulling on her brain despite the sickly sweet taste it left on her gills. Gazing up into the clouds, a new wave of animation overcame her; it only worked to exacerbate her exploratory fretfulness even further.

Suddenly, a slight disturbance in the water caught her attention. Diving down below the rolling waves again, she watched as the underside of a wooden ship passed over her current position with a languid pace. She gazed upon it in wonder, curiosity suddenly clouding her brain from processing logic. Reaching out tentatively, her fingers just barely grazed the wooden surface, its quaintness causing her to shiver uncontrollably with severe anxiety. Shielding her eyes from the sunlight that was now beating down on her as the ship's shadow passed, she followed its trajectory inquisitively, allowing herself to swim after it to acquire knowledge of its intended destination. After trailing it for several leagues, Whitney resurfaced, her focus coming to rest on something she had never seen before: an island.

Whitney hesitated for just a moment, her mind suddenly falling back to the cautioning words of her mother. _Swimming closer may prove dangerous_, she thought to herself, clearly contemplating on the unknown verity of whether the island's inhabitants would be affable towards fishmen or not. Not wanting to get cold feet this early in her contumacious expedition, she hurriedly shrugged off her own trepidation, seemingly pushing any nervousness to the side. Whitney puffed out her chest, taking in one, long breath in order to fortify herself before making her first, possibly treacherous journey onto land. Reaching the shallows was a simple task enough but moving beyond the rows of docked boats to the shore seemed like suicide. Staring out from under a dock, she watched in awe at the numbers of what she knew were called humans, their stubby legs moving them here and there across the island's surface. From her current position, Whitney soon realized that the surface of this island was far from usual.

Despite the fact that it was referred to as an island, in Whitney's eyes it was somewhat of a paradise, completely mystifying in its structure, composition and inhabitants. Rising up from the earth in a continuous cycle, a multitude of seemingly endless bubbles floated up to the highest branches of the striped trees that covered the island's surface. Each individual grove seemed to be marked by a specific number, Whitney quickly noting the numbers inscribed on the bark of the trees. Off in the distance, she could clearly make out what appeared to be an amusement park, complete with roller coasters and Ferris wheels that stretched their tracks high into the clouds above. Marveling at their design, Whitney could not hide her excitement any longer. _This is it! This is Sabaody Archipelago_, she thought to herself, her insides suddenly screaming with anticipation as she recalled her father's old stories of the place. Leaping from her concealed hiding place, she savored the sweet, echoing reverberation of her feet smacking against the hard ground. Whitney, even with her renewed sense of adventure, cringed as more than a few faces turned in her direction at hearing her arrival. Something about their expressions did not sit well with the young fishwoman.

It was not that Whitney had expected a warm welcome. However, the faces that had suddenly turned on her carried an expression that was both intertwined with fear and another more intimidating aspect. Their eyes either turned away in fear or looked upon her with the disgusting interest that a predator might have towards a potential prey item; several women screamed, obviously shocked by her unusual appearance. Shielding their faces from her, Whitney could barely make out their partially inaudible whispers. She recoiled in alarm, suddenly taken aback by their clearly blasé, discriminatory conversations.

"_A fishwoman? What is that thing doing here on land?"_ a group of aristocratic-looking women whispered amongst themselves. They shielded their faces with their outstretched hands in fear when Whitney threw them a confused glance, turning on their heels to quickly shuffle away. Deciding to remove herself from this uncomfortable position, Whitney figured moving along would be the best course of action. Unfortunately, it was not long before she was met by more similarly intimidating outbursts.

"_Do you reckon it escaped from one of those slave traders? There will most certainly be hell to pay for this, especially if it is one of Peterman's catch. I've heard he isn't the type of man to accept any sort of trampling on his authority,"_ an elderly man mused, bringing about a astute look from his wife as she guardedly backed away into their doorway, clearly alarmed at the oceanic creature's sudden presence on land.

"_Those filthy pirates need to keep a firm grip on their products. This is down right outrageous! How would they feel about paying up for someone's insurance, reckoning one of us was killed by that thing!"_ she inveighed brutally, her hands tightening around the doorframe in fear, leaving her thin fingers pale white and painfully clenched. Whitney did not stick around for long as she quickened her pace, nearing the point of a jog as she tried to make her presence a little more ambiguous. However, this audacious attempt served little purpose in spite of her impassioned efforts. No matter where she turned, no matter what anfractuous street she turned onto, she was met by the endless gaze of those who witnessed her daring, yet ineffable attempt against the customs of their island.

"_Keep away from it! What if it is carrying some kind of disease! You seriously need to be more careful!"_ screeched a mother to an overly curious child who had clearly gotten too close to Whitney. In her surprise, Whitney watched as the mother half carried, half dragged her child away from where he stood, the young boy struggling against his mother's firm grip as he clearly attempted to catch another quick view of the walking fish.

"_I know fishmen go for a decent price on the market but has anyone ever brought in a fishwoman specifically? Did that man at the auction house say he was looking for one or was it a mermaid? I wouldn't want to waste my resources in capturing it if I wasn't expecting a decent profit," _a lanky looking man questioned, his eyes nervously retreating to a wall when he noticed Whitney's frightened expression. Seeing the man's obvious discomfort, his companion snickered devilishly, his own gaze never faltering as he gazed upon the young fishwoman with an expression of distaste and yearning, his fingers tightening their grip on the harpoon gun he held at his side. An overpowering uneasiness suddenly struck Whitney squarely in the face, turning on her heel suddenly to swiftly move away from the possible assailants.

"_What a place,"_ she muttered crossly to herself; the sound of this utterance could barely escape the barrier created by her tightly clenched teeth. As she continued her way down the streets, she could find no refuge from the humans' revolted was barely able to control herself, having to clamp her mouth shut like some abalone to prevent herself from shouting. _"How dare they refer to me as an it! Those men! I am not some mere animal to be captured and sold!"_

Whitney could tell that she was visibly fuming based on the now distressed faces of her belligerent aggressors. She knew that she could not bring herself to ignore this type of attack; disregarding discrimination would only empower those who used it to oppress another. Despite her irrational need to remain composed in the face of this new antagonism, she knew there was no point in bottling it up and allowing it to burst forth unexpectedly like a volcanic geyser. Resisting her irrepressible urge to scream, Whitney decided to take out her anger in a more corporeal way. Her right arm swiftly recoiled into an ophidian position similar to that of an attacking viper, her fingers its fangs poised for the kill. Rocketing forward with an intense alacrity, her hand surged forward, smacking into the defenseless surface of a nearby wall.

_They will cease to exist, I can't entertain with a beat up human; Lay waste to cities, __leave towns in ruin…_

To her surprise, the rock collapsed into powder at her strike, leaving a gaping hole in the side of what Whitney assumed to be a restaurant of some sort. As she peered beyond the now shattered wall of the building, she could clearly make out its inhabitants; inside the establishment, there were a dozen or so patrons, hands halted and conversations cut short because of this unexpected, boorish interruption. Realizing her sudden misdeed, she watched in horror as the patrons within the eatery began rising to their feet, their expressions both frightened and appalled tremendously. Screams reverberated against the four remaining walls of the destroyed establishment, several people flying into a fury as they grabbed at phones, their fingers rapidly dialing. Even without having experience on land, Whitney immediately knew whom they were calling: the Marines.

_Their power's fear and it surrounds me; their signs, you can see, One day we will wake the walking zombies. 'Til then we pray…  
><em>  
>The cityscape surrounding Whitney suddenly erupted with activity, both women and men rushing into their homes to await the imminent confrontation between the errant fishwoman and their human saviors. The overall atmosphere became inimical in essence; the sound of a rush of clattering feet sent a shiver creeping up her spine. <em>They are already here<em>, she cautioned to herself, her brow now beaded with sweat as she tried to concentrate on her soon to be harrowing escape. Breaking into a swift run, Whitney rocketed down street after street, moving in a hasty, serpentine pattern in hopes of evading her impending pursuers. The crowds of people that normally occupied the island were more than willing to give up their breathing room, moving aside in waves to avoid the ineffable fishwoman.

Unfortunately, it was not long before Whitney knew she was being tailed. Here on land, a fishwoman's leg acceleration was not enough to counter that of the dirt's normal inhabitants._ If only I could make it to the water,_ she cried, her mind silently screaming with anguish at her folly. Turning a corner sharply, Whitney nearly doubled over at what she saw. She had run smack dab in the middle of a semicircle of marines, their guns aiming directly for her heart. Whitney's jaw dropped; she was clearly surprised at both the marines' precision and secretly wondered how they had caught up to her so quickly. The marines, to her chagrin, refused to lower their guns, lighting a burning flame deep within the young fishwoman, setting her brawler's instinct into motion. Whitney quickly took up a defensive stance, her small fists curled in anticipation for an assault.

"_You there! Fishwoman! You are hereby under arrest for the destruction of human property! _"a man blared in an unnecessarily loud voice. Stepping forward, Whitney could judge that he was the leading officer based on his overall appearance of seniority. The officer, possibly a captain, stood rigid, his appearance not faltering in the least bit as he eagerly waited for a reply. When Whitney did not oblige, he grimaced menacingly as he drew a sabre from its hilt, the blade gleaming brightly in the sunlight as he angled its blade towards the young fishwoman's chest. _"You are surrounded! There is no point in fighting back! Besides, judging by the fact that you are clearly outnumbered and outmatched in weaponry, there is no chance you will succeed in defeating us."_

_Right beside me and you can't run; 'Cause, if you did, you'd be dead and them walls can't roll from the side of my head…_

"_And what would happen to me if I chose to defend myself?" _Whitney replied coyly, flashing a quick smile at the marines. Suddenly struck by insane inspiration, a plan began to unfold in her mind. It was no more than a ploy, a test of the marine captain's true nature, but she knew it would undoubtedly serve its purpose in the long run. The leading officer puffed out his chest in indignation, obviously flustered by his quarry's unwillingness to surrender. A bead of sweat formed on his temple, its path tracing the severely angled edge of his jaw.

"_Are you choosing to disregard the law, then? Very well, at least my men will be able to see a little action. However, I hardly think filling you full of lead would be any clear measure of their skill,"_ the captain remarked sourly, his expression contorting into an unpleasant smile. Returning his sabre to its original position, he quickly retrieved a pistol from his right holster, aiming it squarely into Whitney's face. Despite this sudden and dramatic change in events, Whitney remained unmoved, her arms now crossed as she glared at the foolishness of the humans.

"_Do you really think that's wise, taking on a fishwoman and all? Have your men ever had the misfortune of facing a member of my race? You don't know what I'm capable of,"_ Whitney pronounced impatiently, tapping her foot in annoyance. The officer flinched only for an instance before composing himself.

"_As I recall, there are no fish in the ocean that are bulletproof and it's not like you can breathe fire or something absurd like that. So unless you want to unwisely match bullets with fists, I suggest you surrender to us immediately,"_ the officer commanded, his chest now inflated like a flustered hen, his face turning red in anger. Instead of balking at this truth, Whitney showed no clear signs of giving in; she knew that these threats weren't idle but she understood her strengths. Whitney suddenly composed herself into a ridiculous stance, both of her hands forming into the shape of mock pistols. The marines were clearly taken aback by the absurdity of the current situation, worried expressions now projected at their already rattled captain.

"_Maybe I can't breathe fire but that doesn't mean I'm not dangerous. Let's have a go at it, then. The agility of your men versus my swift trigger finger! This battle will finally decide who is the fastest gunslinger in this part of the Grand Line," _Whitney called out in a tone of seriousness that seemingly distorted her mocking intentions. She waited anxiously for a response, hoping that someone would be bold enough to call her out on her more than obvious bluff. Instead of a counterattack, she received looks of confusion; clearly they didn't know what to do, wondering if she could actually defeat them with just the tips of her fingers. Easing their grips on their guns, several of the seemingly brave marines slowly took several paces in retreat from this unusual enemy. However, this act of resignation did not sit well with the boisterous captain; he glared at Whitney, unmistakably seething with indignation because of the way his reputation was now being scandalized.

"_Sir, what, what are your orders sir?"_ the unsteady voice of one of the lower officers questioned, his hands trembling worse than his voice was. This utterance only served to aggravate the captain more, suddenly appalled by his men's lack of resolve in this peculiar situation.

"_Shoot her! How dare you even think to hesitate! If this is the gam she wants to play, then we will return her to our base in pieces!"_ the unruly captain screeched, his eyes overflowing with undeniable wrath. Raising his own pistol from its hip side holster, the man aimed its barrel at the young fishwoman's heart. Whitney froze at the sight of it, suddenly shocked into awareness by the captain's shrewdness. Her heart froze in her chest, its beat barely a palpitation as her brain began to send signals of panic to her neurons. They in turn sent the same message to her tensed muscles, desperately trying to will her own body into counter action. The captain's finger hovered on the trigger of his pistol for only an instance, time seemingly stopping, hanging in the air as both combatants awaited the imminent start of the dance between predator and prey. Whitney jerked away just in time, the bullet nearly grazing her skin by inches.

"_Damn! Oh sure, now they decide to shoot! Well, they asked for it"_ she spat as she somersaulted away, avoiding the spray of metal that erupted above her head. Taking on a vicious appearance, Whitney lashed out with a multitude of tentacles that had once been her hair. They lashed out, entangling the rifles that had been previously used against her. She lifted them into the air, high enough to evade the outstretched hands of the bewildered marines that lay below. Spinning them about in a wide arc, metal ricocheted off of flesh, undoubtedly splintering bone as she beat back her aggressors with a violent wave of force. Within a single attack, the young fishwoman had defeated her enemies; the captain lay prone at her feet. Clearing the last remaining meters that separated her from her sanctuary, the ocean, she somersaulted high into the air and swan-dived into the crashing waves.

Whitney glanced over her shoulder, curiously eyeing the marines as they regained their composure, lifting their defeated bodies from the earth. Sighing deeply, releasing a long string of bubbles underwater, she contemplated what had just happened. Sadly enough, her adventure had come to a shocking obstruction. Where she had hoped to receive tolerance, she had met distress, hate and even madness from the humans. Hovering beneath the waves, she racked her brain, recalling the story of what had befallen her race's earliest explorers. Albeit for the fact that they had been liaisons of peace like Whitney, they had been beaten back ruthlessly. They had been feared and attacked just the same. Whitney's pulse began to slow, its pace relaxing from the retreating adrenaline within her veins. Contemplating what would happen to her if she were to present her case to the humans only brought about another wave of fear within her. With her mind clouded from anger and indignation, she could barely make out her own heartbeat. _Waiting on a heartbeat, _she thought to herself.

_Waiting on a heartbeat, is anybody listening? We're waiting on a heartbeat. Can anybody hear me?_


End file.
